SOLITARY HOURS
 
 SOLITARY HOURS 
 
 BY 
 
 FREDERICK SCHENCK SGHLESINGER 
 
 New York 
 
 JAMES T. WHITE & CO. 
 1922
 
 Copyright 
 
 JAMBS T. WHITE & CO. 
 1922
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PRELUDE 9 
 
 IN THE STILLNESS OF NIGHT 13 
 
 THE LAND OF TOMORROW 14 
 
 THE OMNIPRESENT SUN 15 
 
 THE LOST DREAM 15 
 
 LINES TO HELEN 16 
 
 A FAIR PAY 18 
 
 DITHYRAMB 19 
 
 IF LIFE'S A DREAM 20 
 
 POE 20 
 
 ODE TO POESY 21 
 
 THE SCULPTOR 24 
 
 THE MERMAID'S TEAR 29 
 
 THE TRAMP AND THE PHILOSOPHER 33 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S RETURN 39 
 
 SEA-DIRGE 43 
 
 THE STAR OF HOPE 44 
 
 THE BATTLEFIELDS 44 
 
 A CHRISTMAS REVERIE 47 
 
 OLD TRUTHS 51 
 
 FAMILIAR SCENES 51 
 
 THE SEA-GULL 53 
 
 JUNE 56 
 
 ODE TO THE TEMPEST 56 
 
 THE AMERICAN EAGLE 59 
 
 LIFE AND THE SOUL 60 
 
 SHELLEY 60 
 
 MAN'S FINITE YEARS 61 
 
 KEATS . 62 
 
 60 
 <c
 
 CONTENTS continued 
 
 DEMOCRACY 62 
 
 A MANHATTAN SUNSET 63 
 
 SLUMBERING MANHATTAN 64 
 
 ON BROOKLYN BRIDGE 65 
 
 LINCOLN 66 
 
 LAHCHMONT 66 
 
 THE GARDEN OF MY DREAMS 67 
 
 AN INVOCATION TO THE MUSE 68 
 
 FRAGMENT . 68 
 
 MARIANNA 69 
 
 MISERY 70 
 
 THE ROSE 71 
 
 PRESIDENT HARDING 71 
 
 THE RIVAL OF POESY 72 
 
 A SERENADE 73 
 
 EXILED 74 
 
 AH, GOLDEN DREAM OF YESTERDAY/ 75 
 
 MARTHA AT THE PIANO 76 
 
 MY VIRGIN MARY 76 
 
 MY HERMITAGE 77 
 
 A SONG OF IDLENESS 78 
 
 UNANSWERED 79 
 
 AN INDIAN PRAYER 81 
 
 DREAMLAND 82 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING 83 
 
 MACSWINEY 83 
 
 GOD IN NATURE 84 
 
 THE VIOLET AND THE OAK 85 
 
 THE REASON FOR CREATION 86 
 
 THE GRAVEYARD 87 
 
 LOVE OF MINE 88
 
 CONTENTS continued 
 
 HOW I LOVE YOU 89 
 
 THE FLOWEH POT 90 
 
 JOY 92 
 
 THE MERRY BROOKLET 93 
 
 WHY I SING 94 
 
 THE END 94 
 
 ON INNOCENCE 95 
 
 HEART'S DESIRE 95 
 
 IN THE ART MUSEUM 96 
 
 SNOWFLAKES 96 
 
 THE ELOPEMENT 97 
 
 THE HUMMING BIRD 98 
 
 THE SONG BIRD 98 
 
 LOVE SONG 99 
 
 ENVOY . . 100
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 The Solitary on the city square 
 
 Oft mixes with the crowds that hustle there, 
 
 His hands tucked in his pockets, and his dreams 
 
 Adrift on the breast of the living streams, 
 
 With phantom shapes or spectral shades beside 
 
 The only friends in whom he may confide. 
 
 Alone within the midst of crowds he broods 
 
 Like a recluse among secluded woods; 
 
 Alone he muses on the busy square, 
 
 With aimless feet, and heart relieved of care; 
 
 Or scrutinizes oft the passer-by, 
 
 Reading the heart and fathoming the eye, 
 
 As through the city's narrow streets or wide 
 
 He strolls with friendly Loneliness as guide, 
 
 Or sometimes mid the peace of rural scenes, 
 
 With chin in hand, on a green bank he leans 
 
 Beside a babbling brook, that aimless flows 
 
 Through valley woods and fields from mountain snows 
 
 There listens to the music of the stream, 
 
 And hears the leaves a-whispering a dream. 
 
 And now, on through the pages of a book 
 
 He strolls and sings; so, reader, if you look 
 
 Within this little volume, you will find 
 
 His pensive face, and peep into his mind.
 
 SOLITARY HOURS
 
 IN THE STILLNESS OF NIGHT. 
 
 In the stillness of night, Love, I dream oft of you, 
 
 When the world is asleep and the long toil is through. 
 
 Like a lost chord of music you seem then to me 
 
 That still lingers a space in my fond memory. 
 
 I have heard it before in the dim long ago 
 
 Ere I felt sorrow's scourge or the winter blasts blow; 
 
 And I'll hear it, I'm sure, when the world is no more, 
 
 And I stand on the brink of a far-away shore. 
 
 Au revoir for a brief while. The day will come yet 
 
 When your heart, Love, and mine, Love, may never 
 
 forget. 
 
 Oh, you ne'er can avoid it while Fate flies before! 
 I'll be waiting you there when the journey is o'er. 
 
 13
 
 THE LAND OF TOMORROW. 
 
 Friend, let us rest in the valley's lap here, 
 
 And ease our parched throat at God's hubhling spring; 
 
 Let us forget that we e'er shed a tear, 
 
 And with the sun smile, and with the birds sing 
 
 For when we have rested and quenched our thirst, 
 
 And relieved our backs of hardship and sorrow, 
 
 We shall pick up our packs, and oh, daring the worst, 
 
 Wend over the hills to the Land of Tomorrow. 
 
 Though the way we have come has been rugged and 
 
 steep, 
 
 And the Earth grows old, still our hearts are young; 
 And here in this valley tonight we'll sleep. 
 And dream of whatever the birds have sung. 
 But when we have rested and drunk our fill, 
 And wantoned with Joy, and forsaken Sorrow, 
 We shall leave the valley, and climb the hill, 
 And follow the trail towards the Land of Tomorrow
 
 THE OMNIPRESENT SUN. 
 
 God pity those that sigh and grieve 
 With little joy to cleanse the spring 
 
 Of sorrow in their lonely hearts, 
 And little spirit left to sing! 
 
 Oh, you who laugh on yonder hill, 
 Look down upon the lowly vale, 
 
 And send a sunbeam to the .man, 
 Whose looks are wan, whose cheeks are pale 
 
 For there is sun enough for all 
 It floods the mountain tops afar ! 
 
 The dome of Heaven is infinite! 
 For every man there beams a star! 
 
 THE LOST DREAM. 
 
 I fashioned a dream the other day 
 Out of the starlight of Love's skies. 
 Upon a wind it flew away 
 L T ntil I found it in your eyes. 
 
 15
 
 LINES TO HELEN. 
 
 If Heaven is not your love, Helen, 
 
 I know not where it lies; 
 For Heaven is not above, Helen, 
 
 But in your kind, dear eyes. 
 
 If Beauty is not yourself, Helen, 
 
 Oh, what then may it be? 
 For Beauty, elusive elf, Helen, 
 
 I nowhere else can see. 
 
 If Constancy's not your heart, Helen, 
 
 Then what is Constancy? 
 For this is all your art, Helen, 
 
 To love and constant be. 
 
 If Virtue's not your soul, Helen, 
 Pray what may Virtue be? 
 
 For you are Virtue's goal, Helen, 
 What good may match with thee ! 
 
 What sing the birds in spring, Helen, 
 At the earliest peep o' dawn? 
 
 Why do the flowers up-spring, Helen, 
 On April's vernal lawn? 
 
 Why do the roses red, Helen, 
 Cover the old vine's thorn? 
 
 And why is the winter dead, Helen? 
 And whv are dreams reborn? 
 
 16
 
 The answer well I know, Helen; 
 
 It glistens in your eyes. 
 Birds sing and flowers grow, Helen, 
 
 For you, O fair and wise. 
 
 The spring returns for you, Helen; 
 
 For you the winter dies; 
 And all the world is new, Helen, 
 
 Reflected in your eyes. 
 
 And is love really true, Helen? 
 
 And is love not a dream? 
 And I have found in you, Helen, 
 
 That distant astral gleam. 
 
 I thought it could not be, Helen; 
 
 That love was but a cloud; 
 That Death would come to me, Helen, 
 
 And wrap me in a shroud. 
 
 But now at last I see, Helen, 
 That love's immortal made. 
 
 In heaven now I'll be, Helen; 
 Within your dear arms laid. 
 
 17
 
 A FAIR DAY. 
 
 This day all other days throws in eclipse ! 
 
 The roses on the creeping vine outside 
 
 My window, kiss the pane like Helen's lips. 
 
 My chamber window now I open wide, 
 
 And marvel on the glory of the skies. 
 
 The violets in the grass below me seek 
 
 To smile at me like Helen's lovely eyes. 
 
 These zephyr lips that lightly kiss my cheek, 
 
 Can they be Helen's breath? I hear her sighs 
 
 Among the rustling leaves; her beauties speak 
 
 In every blade of grass and gentle flower. 
 
 Yet if you deem this fair day's loveliness 
 
 Can gladden me, you know not love's sweet hour. 
 
 All but reminds me what I would possess! 
 
 18
 
 DITHYRAMB. 
 
 Hail Bacchus! Wreaths of sun-kissed grapes I bring 
 
 To crown your merry pate! 
 
 Let maidens dance with streaming garlands, while birds 
 sing, 
 
 And tiny fairies ring 
 Mellifluous bells among the rustling leaves, 
 
 And poets prate 
 That he who loves the bottle never grieves ! 
 
 The girl I love must kiss your rosy lips 
 
 And wanton in your arms! 
 He is my friend who from the wine-glass freely sips 
 
 Incontinently tips 
 A friendly bottle down his guzzling throat ! 
 
 For all have charms 
 Who on the belly fat of Bacchus gloat. 
 
 Rubicund Bacchus, god of gods, all hail! 
 
 Your bloated face is kind. 
 Beside you, ruddy glutton, reddest roses pale! 
 
 Heaven grant us good ale, 
 Ruby and topaz wines to drink and drink 
 
 Till we go blind, 
 And staggering, no more of trouble think ! 
 
 Champagne is bubbling in your sparkling eyes! 
 
 A glance from them I'd quaff ! 
 And claret, running over, on your thick lips lies ! 
 
 Fools that drain it are wise ! 
 Ho, let us reel together in a dance, 
 
 And sing and laugh ! 
 On purple grapes, barefooted, will we prance! 
 
 19
 
 IF LIFE'S A DREAM. 
 
 Is life a dream that haunts celestial sleep? 
 
 One consolation in this thought I take: 
 We never dream, when sunk in slumber deep, 
 
 Save in that pregnant moment ere we wike. 
 
 POE. 
 
 The raven casts his shadow o'er the door, 
 
 Perched on the bust of Pallas. What croaks he, 
 That melancholy bird, so mourn fully? 
 The old refrain of "Never nevermore!" 
 The bells ring out, their souls the bells out -pour! 
 They cry of death, of love and life to me 
 They shriek like ghouls and demons fiendishly 
 They yell deliriously o'er and o'er! 
 O mighty-voiced musician, pour again 
 Those haunting melodies, of sweet refrain ! 
 'Twas given you to know why the stars beam, 
 To sense the horrible dreams that demons dream, 
 To hear the voices of the angels. . . Lo ! 
 Until these die, your dreams will not, sweet Poe ! 
 
 20
 
 ODE TO POESY. 
 
 Fair Poesy, to you, sweet elf, I sing, 
 
 Reclining on the grass in this wild wood, 
 
 And watching how my idle fancies wing 
 
 Up to the moon, that with a golden flood 
 
 Inundates me; till in a pensive mood 
 
 I sink, and muse on a celestial clime, 
 
 And feel the languor of my lazy blood, 
 
 And stretch my limbs, forgetful of fleet time; 
 
 Forsaking Labor's arms to wanton with lewd Rhyme. 
 
 Close to your breast, clasped in your loving arms, 
 
 Fair Poesy; ah, let me here with you 
 
 Toy with eternity, behold your charms, 
 
 And pant with passion, vowing my love's true 
 
 So vast as heaven, and eternal too ! 
 
 Ah, let me crush your breasts against my heart, 
 
 And drink your lips' intoxicating dew, 
 
 And feel your heart leap with a frightened start; 
 
 Defying man or god to rend our souls apart! 
 
 Woman, vain mother of ignoble man; 
 
 Fickle, deceitful, selfish and purse-proud ! 
 
 I must detest her, though part of God's plan 
 
 She be. What is her beauty? But a cloud, 
 
 A dream, a puff of smoke, a crime's fair shroud ! 
 
 Her heart is false that eats the outward fair 
 
 Like canker in a rose. I cry aloud 
 
 Her infamy and curse her evil stare. 
 
 Blaspheme her smiling lips, revile her brassy hair! 
 
 21
 
 A female of a different stamp are you, 
 
 Fair Poesy, born amid azure skies! 
 
 Your lips are constant and your heart is true; 
 
 Kind is the light within your astral eyes; 
 
 Fair words of truth and never specious lies 
 
 Course from your tongue; your grace and beauty show 
 
 Without an evil shadow; fair and wise, 
 
 Sweet Poesy, is your bright, noble brow; 
 
 And blest your rosy lips A kiss from them allow ! 
 
 So, my beloved, I have sworn to love 
 But you and you alone, sweet constant one! 
 No idol-god have I: your face above 
 Within the clouds, caressed by the morn's sun, 
 I worship ardently, till Day is done 
 And Night comes on with sweeping sable trailing. 
 And swiftly over land and sea does run; 
 Till Coyote to his love, the moon, is wailing, 
 And those mad barks, the stars, in the vast void ar; 
 sailing. 
 
 Here in these verdant woods together let 
 
 Us lie, and kiss, caress, and laugh and sigh ! 
 
 Of the world's troublous cares, Love, do not fret; 
 
 But here, while in my arms you amorous lie, 
 
 Dream life away, aye musing on the sky; 
 
 Fanned by the winds, thrilled by my passionate kiss. 
 
 What boots it that the horny satyrs spy 
 
 On sacred love, the joy of which they miss? 
 
 They cannot spoil the blessedness of that deep bliss! 
 
 22
 
 The birds among the branches, Love, will sing 
 
 Of our bright romance, and the passing wind 
 
 Will to the rustling leaves the sweet news bring! 
 
 The grasses growing at our feet, you'll find, 
 
 Will murmur of how sweet 'tis to be blind 
 
 When Eros casts love's darkness o'er the eyes; 
 
 And fairy dreams will pleasantly haunt the mind, 
 
 A mountain meditate on us with brow wise, 
 
 And the clouds gaze down on us from the infinite skies. 
 
 Here in these pathless woods, just you and I 
 
 Will dream of things that no one yet has dreamed; 
 
 Here in these verdant woods, 'neath this wide sky, 
 
 We'll count the stars the stars that e'er have beamed; 
 
 And watch the crescent moon, whose rays have streamed 
 
 So oft on our hearts, setting them afire 
 
 The same moon that has through the ages gleamed; 
 
 And nought shall tempt us to a prominence higher, 
 
 For you and I shall have all that our hearts desire! 
 
 Blest Poesy! How can I prove my love? 
 
 I wish that I might leave the world entire 
 
 And fly to some fair paradise above 
 
 That's the epitome of my desire, 
 
 Where true love's inextinguishable fire 
 
 Blazes and leaps and roars eternally, 
 
 And Thor strikes thunder from his awful lyre, 
 
 And romance freed is from reality! 
 
 Oh, there with you, Love, I might truly happy be ! 
 
 23
 
 THE SCULPTOR. 
 
 Sculptor (modelling.) 
 
 Tonight you are most beautiful, O Moon ! 
 Tonight you're brighter than a million stars. 
 Oh, smile on me, your slave of abject earth, 
 And I will model what you mean to me. 
 You are a female goddess, and your form 
 Is fairer far than earthly women are. 
 Diana by the Romans you were called. 
 You worshipped then the fair Endymion. 
 He never could have loved you as I do. 
 I dream of you, Love, even in my sleep 
 You are my life; your spirit's in this clay. 
 
 Moon 
 
 Mortal, be not such a fool. 
 Know you Heaven's ancient rule? 
 Men may not with gods e'er mate, 
 Save when 'tis ordained by fate. 
 
 Sculptor 
 
 Take pity, fair Moon, on my wounded heart ! 
 It bleeds, and life more dreadful is than death. 
 Oh! what has fate to do with the heart's yearnings- 
 But love alone controls a loving soul. 
 See, Venus smiles tonight within the sky. 
 Ask her, O Moon, if I may not court you.
 
 Moon 
 
 Mortal, be not overbold. 
 Of all dangers you've been told. 
 I will warn you now no more. 
 Men dare not the gods adore. 
 
 Sculptor 
 
 I dare not. Brightness ; Love within me dares ! 
 He takes my heart and moulds it as he wills, 
 Just as I mould my vision in this clay. 
 Then blame not me, Sweet, for adoring you 
 Blame Love, the villain; he is guilty of the crime. 
 
 Since my wish you'll not obey, 
 I must hide myself away. 
 Come, dark cloud; my face conceal, 
 Lest these glances mortals steal 
 Overmuch should anger me, 
 And soon shock my modesty. 
 
 Cloud 
 
 Thus all safe I wrap you round 
 In a mantle of thick mist. 
 All things living on the ground 
 From rude staring must desist. 
 
 Moon 
 Thanks for this protection, cloud. 
 
 25
 
 Cloud 
 That I can help you I am proud. 
 
 Moan 
 Will he die of a broken heart? 
 
 Cloud 
 
 No, he is wedded to his art, 
 And will make a moon of clay 
 Ere he flee from life away. 
 
 II. 
 
 Death (dancing). 
 
 A song I sing 
 
 Of dust and bones, 
 Dance in a ring 
 
 With shrieks and groans ! 
 
 Sculptor 
 
 But you are fair, sweet Death, as fairies are! 
 Your eyes are lovely dreams; soft are your sighs; 
 Your lips are roses red; your smiles are true; 
 Your hair is like a flood of mystic light, 
 And gracefully you dance upon a grave. 
 My head could peacefully rest on your bosom. 
 
 26
 
 Death 
 
 You call me fair? 
 
 To some am I. 
 Gold is my hair, 
 
 And sweet my sigh. 
 
 Sculptor 
 Oh ! let me hold you in my arms, dear Death ! 
 
 I dance like this ! 
 
 Catch me if you 
 Lust for a kiss 
 
 That you may rue. 
 
 If you'll love me, 
 
 And be my slave, 
 I'll dance with glee 
 
 Upon your grave. 
 Ha ha ha! 
 
 (He chases her as she dances about him. She disap 
 pears, and he falls on his face.) 
 
 Sculptor 
 
 She has evaded me. Alas! alas! 
 I would have drunk oblivion from her lips, 
 And slept eternally within her arms. 
 There's nothing I can do now nothing now ! 
 Unless I go on modelling the moon. 
 
 27
 
 With madness in my fingers, Moon above, 
 I mould your visage, and my tools are love. 
 Since life has chained me in a prison bare, 
 The memory of you is all that's fair. 
 The clouds have hidden you, alack, from sight; 
 But in a vision I hold you tonight. 
 The blind will call this form I mould a dream; 
 But it is you who mid the heavens gleam. 
 
 The work is finished. Christ, how wondrous fair ! 
 How did I ever dare to mould such beauty? 
 It is the moon herself in all her glory 
 You, Goddess, I could not refrain from loving. 
 I'll press this statue to my frantic heart, 
 And kiss these smiling lips of life-like clay; 
 I'll hold these cold hard breasts against my soul, 
 While I pretend my art is you, O Moon ! 
 I cannot bear the joy of this ! Good God ! 
 I sink upon my knees I swoon I die! 
 
 Death 
 
 Here rests his head 
 
 Where it did swoon, 
 And he is dead 
 
 Who loved the moon. 
 The grasses o'er his bones shall wave. 
 And I shall dance upon his grave. 
 
 28
 
 THE MERMAID'S TEAR. 
 
 "Among the sentimental and romantic Arabs a pecu 
 liar legend is current as to the origin of pearls. They 
 say that the gems are formed from mermaids' tears, 
 which fall into the oyster while the shell is open." 
 
 I. 
 
 On Bahrein's sands a naked Arab lay. 
 
 With idle lassitude he gazed and dreamed 
 
 Upon the merry, romping waves at play 
 
 On the blue Persian gulf, where Surya gleamed. 
 
 Like diamonds those sparkling sunbeams streamed 
 
 Across the dancing waters on that day. 
 
 Bournu this dark-skinned giant had been called. 
 He was an idler, born of sturdy race, 
 Who dreamed all day on breakers white that walled 
 The beach of Bahrein. Sunlight scorched his face; 
 But still he dreamed, till night enwrapped the place, 
 And back he to his straw-roofed shack was called. 
 
 One morn, as on the golden sands reclined 
 He mused on fleecy clouds that drifted by; 
 As on his dark skin softly blew the wind, 
 And in the sea seemed mirrored the blue sky, 
 He stretched his limbs and heaved a heavy sigh, 
 And for a shattered fancy hopeless pined. 
 
 A billow like a desert sand-drift rose, 
 And broke in teeming pearls on the gold beach. 
 Across the gulf the breeze now madder blows, 
 And in that breeze invisible spirits screech. 
 Bournu's arms toward a holy vision reach, 
 And prays he, "May I clasp it ere it goes !" 
 
 29
 
 The wave had tossed a mermaid on the sands. 
 
 Her hair was gold, not black Arabian hair; 
 
 Nor was her skin dark brown like Bournu's hands, 
 
 But white as the foam on the billows fair. 
 
 And coral beads, that Arab dancers wear, 
 
 Were her red lips. Came she from foreign lands? 
 
 Ah, she was naked as the naked sea! 
 Her shameless breasts like ocean billows rolled ! 
 He rubbed his eyes, for fear he dreamed 'twas she. 
 Vain words ! Her beauty never could be told. 
 With sapphire tail curled on those sands of gold 
 Sat she, and down her back her fair hair streamed. 
 
 He clasped her to his bosom, and a kiss 
 
 He planted on those lips of coral hue. 
 
 He held her close, for fear that he might miss 
 
 One heartbeat from that breast; and oh, he knew, 
 
 As gazed he in those eyes of deep sea-blue, 
 
 He'd found his long desired dream of bliss ! 
 
 At length at length the sun rode on the sea. 
 The night was near, and they must bid farewell. 
 They lingered, loath to part; regretfully 
 In a last kiss they long embraced, when fell 
 In Bournu's palm as Arab divers tell 
 A pearly tear, most wondrous fair to see ! 
 
 But she he loved, the mermaid of the wave; 
 
 She had departed back into the foam. 
 
 Perhaps within a subterranean cave 
 
 With sharks and swordfish she had made her home. 
 
 Ah, would she e'er again to Bahrein roam, 
 
 And him who loved her from despairing save? 
 
 30
 
 One seemed to answer in the billows' roar! 
 What were those words the billows ever cried? 
 They thundered, "Nevermore! Oh, nevermore!" 
 And Bournu shook his fist at them that lied; 
 But they cared not how madly he defied, 
 And still that same refrain to him they bore. 
 
 II. 
 
 Out on the gulf the small boats rode the wave. 
 A thousand o'er the oyster beds that day 
 At anchor tossed, while did nude divers brave 
 The fatal shark bite and the poisonous ray, 
 Perils unseen that 'neath those waters lay. 
 Perhaps yon billow danced o'er a sea-grave ! 
 
 In one of these boats, that an Arab crew 
 
 Of fifteen manned, now Bournu sat and dreamed; 
 
 And toward Menameh o'er the waters blue 
 
 On mud-walled coffee shops he gazed, and deemed 
 
 That there the Hindus, Jews and Parsees schemed 
 
 For pearls that he from Bahrein's waters drew. 
 
 So long as there were pretty women born, 
 
 So long should there be willing men to buy 
 
 The lustrous pearls that every year were torn 
 
 Out of the oyster shells in which they lie, 
 
 That they might please a proud, vain beauty's eye. 
 
 Thus Bournu dreamed in pensive mood that morn. 
 
 He had for hours been fondling that bright tear 
 
 That the fair mermaid of the wave had shed. 
 
 His mates began to show a sign of fear. 
 
 "Throw overboard that ras!" broad Anzac said. 
 
 "The thing's bewitched !" And in his voice was dread. 
 
 But Bournu, dreaming, did not even hear. 
 
 31
 
 At length, grown desperate, great Anzac tall 
 Rose in the boat, and from the dreamer tore 
 That lustrous pearl, and quickly let it fall 
 Overboard, crying, "Lie there ever more, 
 O evil ras!" But Bournu rising, swore. 
 Impending passions in his eyes appall ! 
 
 He lifted giant Anzac in mid-air 
 And cast him, as though he had been a child, 
 Into the sea, which caused all eyes to stare 
 With wonderment. But Bournu merely smiled, 
 And without weight or lifeline Was he wild? 
 Dove overboard ere any were aware. 
 
 Declining Surya vanished in the west, 
 And reigned the queen of darkness on her throne. 
 Bright diamonds glittered on her dusky breast; 
 And winds, that all the day had made sweet moan, 
 Now ceased to stir the waters, or to groan; 
 And on the shore Menameh seemed at rest. 
 
 But BournUj who had sunk beneath the wave, 
 Ne'er reappeared upon the surface more. 
 Oh, had the Persian Gulf become his grave? 
 When late that night the Arabs made for shore, 
 One diver less within their bark they bore. 
 Whither had gone that madman wildly brave? 
 
 Next morn, amid the drift wood on the sand, 
 
 A lifeless body in the sunlight lay. 
 
 Some children found the corpse up-turned there, and 
 
 In terror fled, shocked in the midst of play. 
 
 Bournu it was that on the beach there lay, 
 
 And a large pearl still clasped that lifeless hand ! 
 
 32
 
 THE TRAMP AND THE PHILOSOPHER. 
 
 A winter's night it was and painfully cold. 
 A blizzard raged, the tempest's voice was bold. 
 The night was black, knee-high the drifted snow. 
 Like hell upon the face the wind did blow. 
 Through that wild storm on the deserted road 
 Staggered a man bereft of an abode. 
 
 The tempest pierced his rags and clutched his heart. 
 
 Like a dead man he walked, and was in part ! 
 
 A corpse he finds, stark frozen in the snow. 
 
 Moaning the wind o'er its white face did blow. 
 
 Its pockets the man rifled, but nought finds. 
 
 On he continues, and the blizzard blinds. 
 
 At last a princely dwelling hove in view. 
 
 The man approached it, passed the gateway through, 
 
 And fell unconscious at the very door. 
 
 The cannonading elements round him war! 
 
 But see, a light glows in the window there; 
 
 The door is opened and two strong arms bear 
 
 That senseless body into a large room 
 
 Where blazes a great log fire in the gloom. 
 
 The rescuer chafes the stranger's purple hands. 
 Then at a cabinet some steps off he stands, 
 And some brown whiskey into a glass tips, 
 Which presses he between the stranger's lips. 
 The blood ran warmer through each artery, 
 The eyes unclosed and gazed round dazedly. 
 "Do you feel better now, friend?" asked the host. 
 
 33
 
 The frightened tramp was silent as a ghost. 
 
 "I'll leave you here beside the fire's warmth, friend," 
 
 The voice continued, "while awhile I wend 
 
 In search of warmer clothes for you to wear." 
 
 The tramp was left to brood within his chair. 
 Unto himself the ragged vagabond smiled, 
 And gazed on the flames like a happy child. 
 Soon with apparel warm his host returned. 
 Ah, dreams they were for which the tramp had yearned 
 While staggering through the fierce storm, bowed with 
 
 pain! 
 
 But ne'er he dreamed he could his dreams obtain. 
 A warm, soft bed was granted him that night, 
 Flannel pajamas and sheets spotlessly white. 
 "Goodnight," his host bad. "May you, friend, sleep 
 
 well." 
 The door was shut, the tramp bound in a spell. 
 
 At midnight he, the bearded villain, rose. 
 Still like a fiend the tempest outside blows. 
 He creeps more stealthily than a cat he goes 
 The door approaching of his kind host's room, 
 Intent upon promulgating his doom. 
 The doorknob's turned, the villain's foot steps in; 
 His knife is ready clutched, his eyes on sin ! 
 His arm he raises. Visions of his loot 
 Within his bestial cranium take root. 
 But ere the blade descends into that breast, 
 Those kind eyes open, iron fingers wrest 
 The hilt from the ungrateful villain's hand 
 Turned are the tables, face to face they stand. 
 
 34
 
 "You are a thankful guest, friend, I must say," 
 The host said and the weapon threw away 
 With curious smile. "Is this how you repay 
 My kindness now? You cause me much dismay. 
 Repent the deed. Return you to your room, 
 Obtain your needed rest and spare my doom. 
 If you're impoverished and want some gold, 
 Your stomach to appease and flee the cold, 
 Do not go off without first seeing me. 
 I promise to endow you handsomely." 
 
 The tramp gaped at this indefinable man. 
 Formed he a scheme a surreptitious plan, 
 By which he his assaulter hoped to trap? 
 If so, he would not be caught in a nap. 
 This man would surely such a fool not be 
 As now to give him alms and set him free, 
 When he to take his life had just essayed. 
 His cunning he discerned and was afraid. 
 "Ah, why dissemble?" curtly he replied. 
 "A child could easilv tell vou that vou lied." 
 
 "You don't believe me?" said the singular host. 
 "I'll my sincerity prove at any cost." 
 He pressed a secret button,when behold ! 
 A panel opened. What did it unfold? 
 In the wall was disclosed miraculously 
 A robust safe, which straightway opened he. 
 Some weighty bags he then removed therefrom. 
 The villainous vagabond, watching him, was dumb. 
 
 35
 
 He closed the safe, reshut the paneling, 
 
 And turning to the tramp, let some gold ring 
 
 Into his filthy hands; then dropped the bags 
 
 Along with it and said: "Go patch your rags! 
 
 Here take it all. I wish it could be more. 
 
 'Twill warm you, friend; keep winter from your door." 
 
 The tramp gasped at him, as though stunned was he. 
 "You mean you give me this, and let me free?" 
 He asked incredulously. "But but why? 
 What would you have me do for it? My eye! 
 If this is genuine gold, enough I see 
 To keep me all my life and bury me ! 
 Who would you have me kill? I am your man. 
 Don't waste vain words; disclose at once your plan." 
 
 "Nothing whatever ask I in exchange. 
 All that you see is yours. Does it seem strange? 
 I do not lend or bribe or buy I give! 
 Take what is yours, and may you peacefully live. 
 But I perceive you cannot comprehend 
 My reasoning. My policy I'll defend. 
 I'm not insane because I thus you free. 
 'Tis but a natural outcome, as you'll see, 
 Of just my everyday philosophy. 
 You steal and kill, but you're intelligent; 
 As learned I by your conversation's bent 
 Some hours ago: so lend a patient ear, 
 And you'll my theory of the cosmos hear. 
 
 "The primary question we should ask is this: 
 Is there a God? Yes, I believe there is. 
 A dream such as the universe is defined 
 Could not be sans a Reason (God) behind. 
 
 36
 
 The second question is: God, who is He? 
 
 An individual? No Humanity! 
 
 Whene'er we love, it seems all love the same. 
 
 Hate, envy, courage, fear, delight and shame 
 
 Like buds seem, sprouted from a single plant. 
 
 That all must feel with ardor variant. 
 
 What is the Essence of humanity? 
 
 The Universal Soul, it seems to me. 
 
 Though man's a beast, a spirit more is he. 
 
 7* Soul the mind? No, they are separate 
 
 Distinct, and though connected, cannot mate. 
 
 The mind's a creature of the physical brain: 
 
 The Soul is God, the Universal Main. 
 
 Soul is emotions feelings; mind is thought, 
 
 And the interpreter for Soul of aught 
 
 Existing in the outer universe. 
 
 The mind may be deranged, its thoughts disperse 
 
 Illogically, and in different shade 
 
 The same world paint that nought has overmade. 
 
 But God (Emotion, Soul) has never changed; 
 
 It feels the same, e'en when the mind's deranged 
 
 The madman loves and hates still in the main 
 
 As loved and hated he when he was sane; 
 
 He laughs and weeps, he longs and still regrets 
 
 The same as e'er before, and still he frets. 
 
 The soul in him can never change its face, 
 
 For It is God and universal space. 
 
 All men possess It, even dogs and cats; 
 
 Pigs, donkeys, zebras, lions, mice and rats. 
 
 Reacts It to external forces hence 
 
 Proportionate to the brain's intelligence 
 
 Which translates life with divers purblind eyes . 
 
 Beyond this it would seem that nothing lies, 
 
 37
 
 For nothing in the cosmos system ends. 
 Eternally and infinitely wends 
 The universe sans finish or beginning, 
 Justly unjust in law, and righteously sinning. 
 Behind's a reason which no man may know, 
 Save 'tis the Soul (God) toiling swiftly slow. 
 
 "Since all feel with the universal soul, 
 I, by the world respected, on the whole 
 No better am than you, the common thief. 
 In Soul we are identical, to be brief. 
 Your mind interprets differently than mine 
 Life's panorama, which both must define. 
 Your brain conceives 'tis best to be a crook: 
 I on the world with other spectacles look. 
 Yet both enjoy life, suffer and desire 
 Amid our chosen spheres with equal fire. 
 Believing that your soul's the same as mine, 
 I give you gold to ease the ache of thine; 
 Though you no more than I in general grieve, 
 Or I joy more than you, I must believe. 
 Even if false is this philosophy, 
 It will teach one to love his enemy 
 Besides his friend, and so instruct that men 
 Should all men love for being equals then." 
 
 "Though I cannot indorse your theory," 
 The tramp said, "praise I the philosophy. 
 A thought that prompts you thus to me forgive 
 Must be a thought that 'twould be well to live. 
 I never heard a churchman or good book. 
 That praised the honest, ever praise a crook. 
 Goodbye; and if you ever need a friend, 
 Don't seek an honest man, but for me send." 
 
 38
 
 THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. 
 
 Cosette before the window sat and softly played on her 
 
 guitar. 
 She sang a deeply-moving strain of him who went away 
 
 to war. 
 The Argus eyes of heaven gleamed with brighter ardor 
 
 on that night; 
 The fair moon listened, earthward peered, and through 
 
 the window shed its light; 
 A vine of roses trembling clung below the singer's 
 
 window sill, 
 And charmed the scene with sweet perfume as Venus 
 
 smiled beyond the hill; 
 In a near field a cricket band made music by the light of 
 
 stars 
 All was at peace, save that aloft like hell in heaven 
 
 blazed mad Mars. 
 She gazed adown the winding road and strove to pierce 
 
 the blinding dark; 
 She saw the ghost of him she loved; she heard his 
 
 voice's echo Hark! 
 In memory she heard him call! In memory she saw 
 
 him smile! 
 She struck the strings of her guitar, and like an angel 
 
 sang the while. 
 The stars in heaven wept to hear the mournful tenor of 
 
 that strain; 
 A zephyr sighed a deep-drawn sigh in sympathy of that 
 
 heart's pain; 
 The roses drooped upon the vine; some petals fluttered 
 
 to the ground; 
 
 39
 
 And all the slumbering night was wrapt within the spell 
 
 of that sweet sound. 
 Ah, this the song that Cosette sang! Ah, this the son; 
 
 the stars then heard! 
 More mournful than the moaning wind, sung sweeter 
 
 than by woodland bird ! 
 
 My soldier, sundered from my breast, 
 To battle's arms you falsely fly, 
 And leave your lone Cosette unblest 
 To pine beneath a lonely sky! 
 
 Why have you left me all alone? 
 Here in our homeless home I sigh. 
 I cannot sing, I only moan; 
 I cannot hope, save hope to die! 
 
 The roses 'neath my window, Love, 
 No more they bloom as once they bloomed; 
 Their petals fade and fall Oh, rove 
 No more abroad, your home is doomed ! 
 
 ' 
 
 Sometimes it seems your voice I hear. 
 With beating heart I ope the door, 
 And vainly through the darkness peer; 
 But 'tis the wind and nothing more! 
 
 Sometimes your footstep in the hall 
 I seem to hear, and search the house; 
 But find that there is nought at all. 
 Except a little scurrying mouse. 
 
 40
 
 My soldier, can your heart be cold? 
 Why will you not Cosette's sighs hear? 
 Oh, leave your deeds of glory bold, 
 And from my hot cheek kiss the tear ! 
 
 Neglected in the woman's lap now sank at length the 
 
 hushed guitar. 
 Into the night she hopeless stared with thoughts of him 
 
 who fled afar. 
 The dawn peeped slyly o'er the hill and kissed the roses 
 
 on the vine; 
 The sun uprose in armor gold and seemed on all but 
 
 her to shine. 
 But what now moves along the road? What is that 
 
 crawling black speck there? 
 Her soldier cannot have returned. To dream of it she 
 
 may not dare ! 
 Closer and closer it appears, and larger and still larger 
 
 grows, 
 Until She cannot doubt her eyes ! Oh, it is he returned 
 
 she knows! 
 A few fleet steps adown the path, and open is the 
 
 garden gate; 
 A dash of joy, and they embrace. No longer must she 
 
 pine and wait ! 
 She quaffs his soul from his dear lips; she drains his 
 
 passions from his eyes; 
 And raising her fair face above, she thanks the dawn's 
 
 light in the skies. 
 But grateful prayers are felt too soon. Her blessings 
 
 are not what they seem. 
 For senseless words course from those lips. She listens 
 
 in a kind of dream. 
 
 41
 
 She listens in a kind of dream. Those eyes? Are they 
 
 not gleaming wild? 
 Another utters those strange words, another babbles 
 
 like a child ! 
 Dumbly she sinks into the dust, and mutely stares on 
 
 that changed face. 
 A madman has returned from war! Oh, God on her 
 
 despair have grace!
 
 SEA-DIRGE. 
 
 ancient mourner, hoary Sea ! 
 Whose soul are you now moaning for? 
 What pleasant, vanished memory, 
 Vast waters, are you groaning for? 
 
 1 hear the burden of a song 
 
 Past wailing winds and breakers' roar, 
 Out where the mountains roll along 
 To meet the grand peaks of the shore. 
 
 Mourn ye the wrecks that vanished are? 
 Mourn ye the worlds that are no more? 
 The night descends, and shines a star 
 Down on the ancient, wrinkled shore 
 
 Down on the crags that breast the waves, 
 The cruel waves that ceaseless roar; 
 Down on the earth and all its graves, 
 From which the dead rise nevermore. 
 
 43
 
 THE STAR OF HOPE. 
 
 Within the quicksands of despair, 
 
 Oh what if I should founder far? 
 
 My hands in the nocturnal air 
 
 Reach heavenward for a glimmering star ! 
 
 That star is hope aloft the night. , 
 How very far away it shines! 
 How faintly scintillates its light ! 
 No wonder that the sad heart pines. 
 
 THE BATTLEFIELDS. 
 
 Awhile agone the frightful battle thundered, 
 The cannon' belched, the rifles hissed their lead, 
 The bombs exploded, and the bayonets dripped 
 With human blood and in the sunlight gleamed. 
 Now flowers grow where once the wounded bled, 
 A chestnut tree affords the visitor shade. 
 In an adjacent meadow cattle graze, 
 And o'er the heroes' graves long grasses grow. 
 Some birds are singing in an elder-bush, 
 A rill is rippling like a bosomed tune, 
 And on the distant peaks the white snows rest 
 To let the dead know that the world's still cold. 
 
 But now 'tis night. Aloft the pale-faced moon 
 Her vigil keeps of the deserted earth; 
 The pale moon like a sentinel in the sky 
 Is posted o'er these devastated fields. 
 Here silence is not silence something more, 
 Akin to the awed stillness of the tomb, 
 And Contrast like a sinister shadow slumbers.
 
 The winds that blew all day have gone to sleep, 
 The birds have ceased to sing. But grim Death stirs. 
 Lo! from the graves the spectral heroes rise, 
 Where they have slept in peace full many a year. 
 Their heads are in their hands, their bones are bare, 
 And on the ground their arms are cast aside. 
 They stare unheeding as they pass me by. 
 Their hollow eyes are ghastly. Can the dead 
 Perceive the myst'ries that pervade the night? 
 Their fleshless mouths are mute, and yet it seems 
 As though with one another they converse. 
 These spectres eat and drink. Lo ! look you now. 
 They sit at their repast with greedy jaws. 
 
 First Spirit 
 
 Brother, try this juicy worm. 
 It is rich with warm, red blood. 
 Thus I with agony did squirm 
 While I lay dying in the mud. 
 
 Second Spirit 
 Let me have a draught of rain. 
 
 Third Spirit 
 
 Here's some that all the night has lain, 
 And it is stagnant as your brain. 
 
 Fourth Spirit 
 
 How lucky we have been to die, 
 
 Since now we may in the dank earth lie ! 
 
 4,5
 
 Fifth Spirit 
 
 Or sleep within a hollow tree 
 Where goblins fright the memory. 
 
 Strange morbid visions haunt Night's vast abysses. 
 Groans stir the vapid silence, human sighs 
 Pervade the heavy air, till I too moan. 
 Oh, aged mothers ! bending o'er these graves 
 In flowing mourning, sob less copiously, 
 Your wondering infants clutched against your breasts! 
 Young maidens fair, ye little childish forms, 
 Even you poor dumb brutes all mourn in vain ! 
 Alas! the angels in God's kingdom weep, 
 Till terrified I flee these ghastly scenes !
 
 A CHRISTMAS REVERIE. 
 
 The flakes fall thick and fast upon the town; 
 
 Like merry elfins they come tumbling down. 
 
 Wind rumbles like a ghost the window pane, 
 
 And whistles like a demon gone insane. 
 
 Outside, pedestrians in mufflers fight 
 
 The storm with coat tails flying like a kite, 
 
 And help each other round the corner turn 
 
 While their sore hearts for vestal comforts yearn. 
 
 The Solitary in his bachelor home 
 
 Lolls by the hearth flame with a chatty tome, 
 
 In dressing gown and slippers soft and warm, 
 
 Quite cosily fixed and undisturbed by the storm. 
 
 His mastiff lounges by with half-closed eyes, 
 
 And shows no sign of life, nor wish to rise; 
 
 The flames within the hearth form curious dreams, 
 
 The great logs crackle, and most human seems 
 
 The shadow of the fire upon the wall, 
 
 That tends to cheer the heart more than appall 
 
 Like an intangible companion nigh, 
 
 Or mute that cannot even vent a sigh. 
 
 He watches how the wavering firelight gleams; 
 
 He listens to the clock tick, and he dreams. 
 
 Out of the hearth within a puff of smoke 
 Spry Fancy skips, and with his wand does poke 
 The logs, and changes them to magic dreams. 
 A pretty Christmas tree appears, it seems, 
 Adorned with multicolored balls and gifts; 
 With tinsel, cornucopias and rifts 
 Of lovely trinkets, while around the tree 
 A group of children dance and shout with glee.
 
 Sweet vestal scene ! What happiness is here ! 
 The Solitary dotes and sheds a tear, 
 Self-pitying a heart that never knew 
 Such radiant scenes as these which meet his view. 
 
 The father enters, dressed as Santa Claus, 
 And the delighted children with applause 
 Greet him, and crowd about to see the sack 
 Of presents that he carries on his hack. 
 Saint Nicholas discloses gifts for all: 
 A hobby horse for Jack, a gun for Paul; 
 A doll for Mary and a book for Ann, 
 A horn for Bobby and a ball for Dan. 
 When all the presents are distributed, 
 His bag old Santa shoulders, bobs his head, 
 And vanishes with the jingling of a bell. 
 "A merry Christmas!" cries he. "And farewell!" 
 
 But dreams, like joy and life of man, must end; 
 And, once that they have passed, nought may amend. 
 So does this dream of Christmas fade and leave 
 The Solitary in his chair to grieve 
 Before the ghoulish fire, that seems to grin 
 Maliciously and warms his sinking chin. 
 The windows rattle, moans a ghostly wind; 
 The shadows dance, and weird thoughts haunt the mind; 
 The mastiff lifts his head and pricks his ears 
 As though a supernatural voice he hears; 
 And once again the wind outside does moan, 
 "You are alone ! you are alone alone !" 
 At each tick of the clock a minute dies. 
 The Solitary listens and he sighs. 
 
 48
 
 Again spry Fancy skips from out the fire; 
 
 His wand he waves, and the flames leap up higher 
 
 Till lo! another Christmas scene unfolds! 
 
 The Solitary rubs his eyes beholds ! 
 
 A drunken father in a tenement room 
 Snores by a rugged table in the gloom, 
 An empty flask of whiskey at his head. 
 A dying mother in a caved-in bed 
 Is staring at the filth upon the wall; 
 And a small son, wrapt in a tattered shawl, 
 With a wan visage, prematurely old, 
 Is trembling in the corner from the cold, 
 And sobbing with a heart full of despair. 
 Disguised as Santa Claus, Death enters there. 
 His skull wears a false beard, his fleshless back 
 Bears up a heavy, black and bulging sack. 
 Death empties his great sack upon the floor. 
 Out tumble heart-aches, woes and pains galore. 
 "A Merry Christmas !" laughs he. "Curse you all !" 
 He leaves his sack and fades into the wall. 
 
 The Solitary wakens with a start; 
 The flames leap up, the hideous dreams depart, 
 To but give place to other ghastly woes. 
 A newsboy shivers coatless in the snows; 
 Beside a casket black a widow wails; 
 An old hag rummages in garbage pails; 
 An infant's heart stops beating in its breast; 
 A fair maid's fickle lips a fool has pressed; 
 In hospitals the sick and suffering moan; 
 And on the battlefield the wounded groan. 
 
 49
 
 "A merry Christmas !" the impertinent wind 
 Yells, "To the sorrows of the world be blind!" 
 The snow falls thick and fast out on the street; 
 The people homeward plod with weary feet; 
 Night like enveloping sadness settles down, 
 And wraps in his black coat the great white town; 
 The ponderous bell within the old church tower 
 Swings to and fro and mellowly booms the hour. 
 
 "Oh, let us not forget on Christmas day 
 The poor and suffering; but let us pray 
 That from their troubles they delivered be; 
 For every heart has not such joy as we !" 
 So dreams the Solitary by the fire, 
 And pokes the logs until the flames leap higher, 
 
 The mastiff suddenly rises from the floor. 
 A knock is heard; some one is at the door. 
 Before the Solitary can arise, 
 A stranger enters, to his dumb surprise, 
 
 And asks if he the chimney's warmth may share. 
 He silently crosses to a fireside chair; 
 Then taking a cigar, he strikes a match 
 And watches how the little flame does catch; 
 Lights his cigar and muses on the fire, 
 Watching the flames alternately leap higher. 
 
 "A merry Christmas," greets he in a while 
 And with an effort forces a wan smile. 
 "Tis very pleasant here before the hearth. 
 Faith, I believe no pleasanter spot's on earth !" 
 
 His name the Solitary cannot guess. 
 "My name," the stranger says, "is Loneliness." 
 
 50
 
 OLD TRUTHS. 
 
 Everything that now seems new 
 Is not necessarily true. 
 Do not on the old truths war. 
 Sneering, "I've heard them before". 
 What is true is always true, 
 And though old, yet ever new. 
 Little worth while may be bred 
 That has not been already said. 
 
 FAMILIAR SCENES. 
 
 Ah, fair scenes often visited. 
 That once her spirit graced! 
 Once more in memory I wed 
 Your beauty long defaced! 
 
 Again I see her golden curls 
 (Oft tangled with the winds) ; 
 Again of love the streamlet purls, 
 And specious Romance blinds ! 
 
 Oh, rose of romance here entombed, 
 
 I look for thee in vain. 
 
 Sweet face that haunts me, I am doomed 
 
 Alone to pace this lane. 
 
 Ah, never more shall I be thrilled 
 As in the sunlit past? 
 Some demon has that romance chilled, 
 And June breathes autumn's blast!
 
 Ah God! will never it return? 
 How can perfection die? 
 The heart that sang, alas, shall burn 
 Must pay now with a sigh ! 
 
 Oh, Wisdom, how I curse your eyes, 
 That taught me how to weep ! 
 Aye, I could smile ere I was wise 
 But grief now haunts my sleep! 
 
 Skies that remind me of her eyes, 
 May storms becloud your face ! 
 I'll solace find but in my sighs, 
 And comfort in disgrace! 
 
 Yet very little's changed, it seems, 
 In the scene's outward grace; 
 But, God ! how different the dreams 
 That once enwrapt this place ! 
 
 The inner beauty's disappeared ! 
 A smiling mask remains ! 
 And all to which I was endeared 
 In vanished years, now pains ! 
 
 Had I ne'er loved, I could not mourn 
 The false and transient dream: 
 Had I ne'er loved, the joy then born 
 Would ne'er have blest this stream ! 
 
 Though to the winds I must complain, 
 And wring my hands now, doomed ! 
 Heaven I thank amidst my pain 
 For happiness entombed. 
 
 52
 
 THE SEA-GULL. 
 
 Ah, snow-white gull, poised o'er the azure sea ! 
 
 How dreamily 
 
 You soar 
 
 Up to the heavens, or 
 
 Float downwards now on rigid wing 
 
 To graze the gasping bosom of the wave; 
 
 Then fling 
 
 Yourself with sweeping pinions heavenward once more, 
 
 Elements of eternity to brave ! 
 
 Most graceful gull, say what a happy life is thine, 
 
 Soaring here all the day 
 
 Above the sea, 
 
 Watching the dancing waters at their play; 
 
 Suspended in the free. 
 
 Inhaling from below 
 
 The wafted brine 
 
 That lusty breezes blow ! 
 
 You are a Poet, dipping toward the sea, 
 
 But rarely landing on its breast for long. 
 
 The Sea may rage and thunder forth its song; 
 
 Yet unconcerned you sweep 
 
 Aye merrily 
 
 Far o'er the troubled deep; 
 
 But ne'er become a part 
 
 Of all that tribulation 
 
 And fretful animation 
 
 That in the billows leap 
 
 As in the human heart. 
 
 53
 
 Lend me your wings, thou most contented bird; 
 
 And I shall sweep 
 
 Above the bounding deep, 
 
 While on the rocks the syren sings, 
 
 And Madness springs 
 
 Within the foam atop the wave; 
 
 And demons rave, 
 
 Careening in a wild dance on the shore, 
 
 Where breakers roar 
 
 And Earth's jagged crags with Ocean's mountains war. 
 
 Lend me your wings, fair Sea-gull swift and free; 
 
 And I shall daunt the boisterous sea. 
 
 Rocking amid a tempest high, 
 
 Sequestered in the solitudes 
 
 Of grand Infinity's boundless sky 
 
 Where the cloud, 
 
 Very proud, 
 
 In the breathlessness broods 
 
 Of space; 
 
 And the wild winds sigh, 
 
 And the winds they cry 
 
 As through Heaven's vastnesses they race. 
 
 Lend me your wings, O happy, happy bird ! 
 Lend me the spirit of your mad, wild flight! 
 Swifter and higher soar, soul purely white, 
 Than singing Rhyme 
 Or keenest-bladed Word!
 
 This moment now the heavenly steeps you climb 
 
 So far, you almost fade from sight! 
 
 O thou high-spirited bird, 
 
 At what ineffable height 
 
 You soar ! 
 
 Of such a reckless daring I have never heard 
 
 In all my life before ! 
 
 I'm but a white-cap leaping vainly toward the sky 
 
 Upon life's restless sea. 
 
 You like an angel seem, 
 
 Fair Sea-gull, as through heaven you fly 
 
 Or like a dream 
 
 Of Argus sleeping with a sleepless eye. 
 
 Now on immovable pinions you swoop by, 
 
 And I can scarcely follow your swift flight, 
 
 Till (ere I realize it) you on the wave alight. 
 
 55
 
 JUNE. 
 
 Ah, June, what fragrance on the breezes blown 
 
 From dewy flowers and from woodland dells! 
 
 I hear the elfins ring their mellow bells 
 
 Among the leafy boughs; and all alone 
 
 The spring purls, trickling down those rocks o'ergrown 
 
 With velvet moss; while yonder, hearken, wells 
 
 The brooklet's song, and in the distance swells 
 
 The cataract's muffled thunder and the groan 
 
 The pines make when they bend before a blast. 
 
 The songs I kept repressed here in my heart 
 
 Are being sung by all the birds at last. 
 
 Ah, may they never from these wilds depart 
 
 Until the mountains topple and the sun 
 
 Grows cold, and Man's work on the earth is done. 
 
 ODE TO THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Tempest, wild spirit reeling through the clouds, 
 
 Listen now to the music of my harp; 
 
 Harken awhile for one shrill note and sharp 
 That soars above the clamor of Earth's crowds ! 
 
 That note 's my solitary voice my ode 
 
 To you, oh indefatigable wind, 
 Born of my heart's emotion on Life's road, 
 
 O'er which I grope with my staff, weak and blind. 
 List for the music of that heart-felt ode 
 
 And mark that I, who sing it, am purblind. 
 
 56
 
 Are you a maniac with tussled hair, 
 
 Raging through space, escaped from some caged lair; 
 
 Making with mouth a foam unearthly growls? 
 
 Agony spears you, and then Franticness howls, 
 And your eyes in their sockets roll and stare. 
 
 Perhaps you an Arabian charger are 
 Galloping over the hot desert sands, 
 A demigod on your back, whose awful hands 
 Now hurl obstreperous thunderbolts afar 
 And move the quiet skies to bestial war. 
 
 Or are you, Tempest, maybe a grand chord 
 Of awful music from a master's score, 
 Like breakers rumbling on a rugged shore; 
 
 Struck on sweet strings, expressing more than word; 
 And doomed to haunt the spaces evermore? 
 
 Are you a nightmare from a drunkard's sleep 
 With snaky seaweed hair, some missing teeth, 
 
 A green complexion, eyes that never weep 
 
 And knotty nose with hanging jaw beneath, 
 
 Busily piling dark clouds heap on heap? 
 
 Maybe you are a super-woodman's ghost 
 Chopping down trees with an invisible axe; 
 
 Forgotten souls of an advancing host, 
 
 Lustful for rapine; or a plague that wracks 
 Whole towns, first entering by the chimney cracks. 
 
 57
 
 Are you the sacred anger of great Jove, 
 On Mount Olympus seated on his throne? 
 
 Are you the trembling rage of jealous Love, 
 Who bleeding on a bed of thorns doth moan? 
 
 Are you the passion of a poet's song, 
 
 That throbbing soars among the listening stars? 
 Are you the endless feud 'twixt Right and Wrong? 
 
 The struggles of weak man? The breath of Mars? 
 
 Were I imbued with such invisible fire, 
 Naught would be out of reach of my desire! 
 
 58
 
 THE AMERICAN EAGLE. 
 
 Great Eagle of America, rest now 
 
 Atop the tall crags like a thundercloud, 
 Or, like an arrow from an Indian's bow, 
 
 Streak heaven, high as the thoughts of the proud! 
 
 The sunlight bright shall follow on your path; 
 
 The winds cease kissing the fair clouds, to chase 
 You raging through the skies like a god's wrath; 
 
 While silent mountains look on at the race. 
 
 Soar far above the abject realms of earth ! 
 
 Sometimes look upward at the stars, that light 
 The ways of man, and dream of death and birth; 
 
 Or, by the trumpet of triumphant right 
 
 Commune with God, the reason of existence!. 
 Sometimes gaze down upon the vales and hills, 
 
 And feel a prayer for them who with persistence 
 Battle with life until the struggle kills ! 
 
 Dwell nearby Heaven; yet forget not man! 
 
 Keep your sins mortal; but immortal be 
 Your virtues as the universal plan, 
 
 Projecting onward through eternity! 
 
 An emblem of proud Liberty you are, 
 
 Flying unhindered through the boundless space. 
 
 What do you know of Slavery's chains afar 
 While through Heaven's freedom angel-like you race? 
 
 What do you know of prison-bars, who fly 
 
 In the roofless palace of infinity? 
 Ah, what, mid the illimitable sky, 
 
 Do you know of the dungeon's agony? 
 
 59
 
 LIFE AND THE SOUL. 
 
 Let life rage on like stormy seas on me, the stoic shore. 
 
 In vain against my earthen breast the mountainous 
 billows pour. 
 
 Like rocks amid the warring foam my staunch con 
 victions stand, 
 
 Immovable, defiant, calm, invulnerable, grand. 
 
 I smile on each tempestuous wave that dares on me to 
 war, 
 
 Crying, "Foolish sea, 'tis useless to attack this stedfast 
 shore." 
 
 SHELLEY. 
 
 Shelley, thou godly man, thou super-voice; 
 
 Fraught with the elements your melodies are; 
 
 Your dreams like beams are sprinkled from a star. 
 Sing on ! oh thunder, lightning, and rejoice ! 
 Your harmonies are passionate and choice; 
 
 They race through heaven on Phoebus's golden car, 
 
 Reverberate amid the clouds afar; 
 And kingly is that sweetly awful noise. 
 Your eyes are flames, that burn the walls perverse 
 
 Of ignorance ; your dreams outlive the sun ! 
 
 You know all: how the great world was begun. 
 And how infinity shall it immerse. 
 
 In space ethereal forevermore 
 
 Unchallenged and unconquerable soar! 
 
 60
 
 MAN'S FINITE YEARS. 
 
 The trails of all men soon must end 
 Beyond the dreary hills of life. 
 What matter if we lose a friend? 
 The grave shall end the worst of strife. 
 
 We proffer drink. The beggar sips 
 And suffers longer in the dust. 
 Why force we water to his lips? 
 Death's kiss is sweet, and die he must. 
 
 The money bags man loves to hold 
 And gloat on with his greedy eyes, 
 What will avail their dazzling gold 
 When he beneath the greensward lies? 
 
 And what is Fame? An empty name 
 That never was save in a dream. 
 The great and small must die the same, 
 Though some like gods immortal seem. 
 
 And what is Love? A transient joy, 
 Paid for with sacrifice and pain, 
 That Death must with the dirt alloy 
 As with all else that men attain. 
 
 61
 
 KEATS. 
 
 John Keats, what fairy melodies sang you, 
 Seated beneath a greenwood tree in June? 
 Within my ears reechoes each old tune. 
 
 The nightingale warbles in a dell of dew; 
 
 The autumn ode reverberates anew 
 In memory, until in dreams I swoon. 
 I thank you, mighty singer, for this boon 
 
 To read your lays and sing my praises too. 
 
 You are the master, Keats, of fantasy. 
 
 I read your verse, and far from earth I soar, 
 Where only stars shine versed in mystic lore, 
 
 And dreams join hands with sleep and poesy. 
 There let me dwell aye with perpetual youth, 
 Knowing naught else then save that "beauty's truth". 
 
 DEMOCRACY. 
 
 Democracy, your eyes are bright; 
 
 Your form is wondrous fair; 
 Your mind is Truth; your soul is Right, 
 
 Your tongue's each word a prayer. 
 
 Oh, like Columbia's rocks you stand, 
 
 Oblivious of the storm ! 
 In vain the frothing billows grand 
 
 Sweep o'er your stoic form. 
 
 Your arms out-stretched in welcome are 
 
 To meet each laboring bark; 
 You are the pilot's guiding star 
 
 His beacon in the dark! 
 
 62
 
 The people are your corner-stones, 
 
 Your pillars, roofs and walls, 
 Where lie interred old Slavery's bones 
 
 And Freedom stalks the halls; 
 
 Where Justice sits upon her throne, 
 
 Law's scepter in her hand, 
 And Peace smiles down from Heaven's zone 
 
 To bless her native land. 
 
 Democracy, forever smile 
 
 On old Columbia's shore. 
 And Nation, venerable pile, 
 
 Stand fast forevermore ! 
 
 A MANHATTAN SUNSET. 
 
 The sun sinks like a God on fire behind 
 
 Manhattan's skyscrapers. Ah, within the mind 
 
 What horrible phantasmagoria 
 
 Could e'er produce on man's heart this same awe ! 
 
 Suppose those flames celestial once should catch 
 
 Upon those towering structures, like a match 
 
 That Vulcan, to flame cities into ashes, 
 
 Strikes on the skies until the lightning flashes. 
 
 Hair-raising groans would fly up to the skies 
 
 On crippled wings, with moans and shrieks and cries ; 
 
 Then Death would like the pale-faced moon appear, 
 
 And Time alone would stay to build the bier. 
 
 63
 
 SLUMBERING MANHATTAN. 
 
 What is the silence of the forest deep 
 Compared to ye, Manhattan, when asleep? 
 Then millions slumber in your Titan breast, 
 Forgetful of the world, in blissful rest; 
 Millions of aching hearts and tearful eyes 
 Dream underneath the star-bespangled skies; 
 Millions of weary limbs and heavy heads 
 A few hours' peace obtain stretched in their beds. 
 What then is proud Ambition to the soul? 
 The billows of vast sleep above it roll. 
 What then are wordly cares or earthly joys? 
 No more nor less than children's broken toys. 
 Vengeance is all forgotten, duty fled, 
 The past and present with the future dead. 
 Dreams, even, are but shadows of past dreams, 
 And life flows on unseen like winter streams. 
 At such an hour, poised on oblivion's brink, 
 Fame, wealth and lore to nothingness do sink; 
 But all eternity is at our feet, 
 And face to face with God we pigmies meet. 
 
 64
 
 ON BROOKLYN BRIDGE. 
 
 Walk with me on the bridge and gaze across 
 The river at the towers of New York. 
 Those mighty buildings, stretching toward the sky, 
 Afford a wondrous sight to muse upon. 
 See how the smoke, like imitation clouds, 
 Drifts lazily, arising from the stacks 
 Of factories ! How many thousands dwell 
 In those tall buildings ! and how many hands 
 There help to turn the wheel of industry! 
 How many souls are sorrowing behind 
 The sunlight on those countless window panes ! 
 What thousands dream of what may never be! 
 How many hearts are heavy, filled with care ! 
 How many hope ! how many more despair ! 
 How few know true content of all those there! 
 Ambitions, aspirations and desires 
 Incalculable and unsatisfied 
 They feel. It takes but a few beams of joy 
 To serve this cityful, where millions live 
 That will tomorrow rot within the grave. 
 
 Look down a moment on the river's wide 
 Expanse, if it will not you dizzy make, 
 And watch that tiny tugboat pass beneath 
 In truth, an energetic child of steam. 
 The iron ships that carry passengers 
 And cargo o'er the wave to foreign shores, 
 Without its aid are helpless when in port. 
 So do the great depend upon the small, 
 And each part's necessary to the whole. 
 
 Let us return now to the shore once more 
 And our pet interests with the crowd's ally 
 As it were, put a cog in the machine. 
 
 65
 
 LINCOLN. 
 
 Lincoln, there is no greatness truly great 
 That lacks simplicity. A noble heart 
 Must be of common clay as well a part 
 Not merely heavenly. The twain must mate 
 (Heaven and earth) ere man can conquer fate. 
 Nature shall ever grander be than art. 
 The hand of God the seed, the lightning dart 
 At will destroy can, or anew create 
 
 God's noblest plan, a great and simple man. 
 And Lincoln, you by God's brain so were planned, 
 So sculptured by that mighty Artist's hand 
 
 To be the offspring of His noblest plan. 
 The proud, the vain, among the honored great, 
 On you, a simple mortal, Lincoln, wait. 
 
 LARCHMONT. 
 
 Oh, Larchmont, dear haunt of my frolicsome youth; 
 
 Lovely shore, kissed by billows of Long Island Sound, 
 Where the sea-gulls like visions seraphic, forsooth, 
 
 O'er the nymphs of the wave circle round and around ! 
 
 Like mermaids reclining asleep on thy shore, 
 With graceful tails curved, and most wondrously fair; 
 
 Thy immortal rocks s Larchmont, remain evermore 
 Beloved by Apollo, who smiles on them there. 
 
 Ghosts of memory haunt thy familiar scenes still. 
 
 Ah, how sweetly reecho the voices I knew! 
 Like the sunset their music departs o'er the hill, 
 
 And now silence remains, and oh, loneliness too. 
 
 66
 
 THE GARDEN OF MY DREAMS. 
 
 I dreamt a garden path I walked along 
 And gazed around me on a sea of flowers; 
 A bird upon a rosebush sang a song; 
 I stood and listened to him sing for hours. 
 It seemed the flowers waved without an end 
 Through awful spaces of eternity! 
 Ah, naturally then, I yearned to bend 
 And pick one from the garden tenderly. 
 I knew not which to choose, so fair were all, 
 Until a modest pansy caught my eye, 
 Hidden among some stately amaranths tall, 
 Content with but a peep at the blue sky. 
 When from the hiding place in which it grew 
 I plucked it, lo! it changed, Love, into you!
 
 AN INVOCATION TO THE MUSE. 
 
 Ah Muse, I conjure thee 
 
 To send me from the paradise of dreams 
 
 A pleasant fantasy 
 
 Of fays, and knights in clanking panoply, 
 
 Of blushing amaranths and laughing streams; 
 
 For I am sad and weary-limbed tonight 
 
 And long for soothing dreams 
 
 Oh, sweet Contentment has now taken flight, 
 
 And I am drowsy-eyed, it seems ! 
 
 Now on thy silver lyre 
 
 Play me a soft and tender melody, 
 
 And set my heart afire; 
 
 Picture in song more than I can desire; 
 
 With lofty strains, that soar eternally, 
 
 Promise, O Muse, more than I dare ask for, 
 
 That I may solaced be 
 
 And happily may rest for evermore, 
 
 Spellbound in dulcet sounds of glee ! 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 No wind that night was stirring anywhere 
 
 The zephyrs slept in the cups of the flowers, 
 
 A witch had cast a spell upon the air, 
 
 And latent were the elemental powers; 
 
 Naught stirred, save moonbeams naught but golden 
 
 showers-; 
 
 The leaves hung motionless upon the trees, 
 The minutes dragged reluctant through the hours; 
 The world slept, mirrored in the slumbering seas, 
 Oh, nowhere was a faint suggestion of a breeze! 
 
 68
 
 MARIANNA. 
 
 Marianna went a-maying. 
 
 Breezes round her skirts were playing, 
 
 Kissing her rose lips, and blowing 
 
 Through her graceful tresses flowing. 
 
 Mountains seemed like giants dreaming. 
 
 Marianna's eyes were beaming. 
 
 In the fields the crickets singing 
 
 Round her nimble feet were springing. 
 
 Sing, O, sing her grace and beauty ! 
 
 Such is but a poet's duty. 
 
 Sun a halo forms above her. 
 
 Oh, to see her is to love her ! 
 
 Through the daisies she comes skipping; 
 
 Like a fairy she goes tripping. 
 
 Marianna ! Marianna ! 
 
 We will strew your path with flowers ! 
 
 Laughter's songs will haste the hours! 
 
 We with roses shall assail you, 
 
 And with berries we shall hail you 
 
 Berries redder than your mouth, dear; 
 
 Roses blooming like your youth, dear. 
 
 Marianna ! Marianna ! 
 
 In the wind the spring is crying, 
 
 And your hair's like sunlight flying. 
 
 Marianna ! Marianna ! 
 
 In the woods a cave I know, dear, 
 
 Whither you and I may go, dear. 
 
 O'er its door the moss is creeping. 
 
 Venus in its depths is sleeping.
 
 Nearby sings a brooklet roving, 
 Nature fashioned it for loving. 
 Marianna, come with me, dear. 
 And this sylvan bower see, dear. 
 There the heart will cease its fretting; 
 There will be a sweet forgetting. 
 Through the meadows no more rove, dear; 
 Languish in the arms of love, dear. 
 
 MISERY. 
 
 Oh, the moon shone pale through the branches gaunt 
 In the midst of the shadowy tanglewood, 
 And the dancing starbeams came to haunt 
 The wilds that the sunset had bathed in blood. 
 
 It was here I came with my false, false love, 
 To kiss her lips and fondle her hair; 
 To this spot fantastic I chanced to rove, 
 Where the pinetrees scented the indolent air. 
 
 And sad sang a bird in an old oak tree, 
 And weeping fell the waterfall; 
 The river flowed mournful towards the sea, 
 And a sorrowful owl began to call; 
 
 The mountains sat round like brooding ghosts; 
 
 The lake was black as the devil's ink, 
 
 And the trees appeared like advancing hosts 
 
 That had mustered for battle on the lake's cold brink. 
 
 Oh, who was this maiden I held in my arms? 
 Oh, who was this fool that reposed on my breast? 
 She cast a strange spell on me with her foul charms! 
 'Twas Misery writhing a thing unblest! 
 
 70
 
 THE ROSE. 
 
 Red as my lady's lips you are, 
 
 As fiery as yonder star, 
 
 The color of the wine I drink, 
 
 Like sunset's flames that westward sink, 
 
 The ruby on my lady's finger, 
 
 Youth's tints that on her cheeks still linger, 
 
 The devil's brilliant cloak and hood. 
 
 And the Creator's crimson blood. 
 
 PRESIDENT HARDING. 
 
 Out of American clay they molded him; 
 Out of American dreams they forged his mind; 
 They planned his heart in years long past and dim: 
 The people's spirit mirrored there we find. 
 
 Lead on, great thought of God, through cloud-crowned 
 
 years, 
 
 And teach us to forget and find new hope; 
 Teach us to smile in the midst of our tears ! 
 Blind at Eternity's abyss we grope ! 
 
 The light of Progress flashes from your eyes; 
 The awe of Wisdom sits on your calm brow; 
 Truth, Vision's gift, promotes you to the skies: 
 One word escapes your lips, the pregnant NOW ! 
 
 71
 
 THE RIVAL OF POESY. 
 
 I worshipped Poesy's clear voice; 
 
 She sang so sweetly for me. 
 I never had another choice, 
 
 For she it was who bore me. 
 
 She chanted like an April bird, 
 Her countenance was heaven; 
 
 Her songs for many years I heard, 
 They were a constant leaven. 
 
 But that was ere we, Helen, met. 
 
 The hour I'll e'er remember! 
 It vibrates in my memory yet; 
 
 It is a quenchless ember. 
 
 A far more wondrous dream were you 
 Than any I had dreamed, dear; 
 
 For you a dream that had come true 
 Or living poem seemed, dear. 
 
 72
 
 A SERENADE. 
 
 I sing of all the agony 
 That Love has buried in my breast, 
 Of dreams and dreams that can not be, 
 And endless nights devoid of rest; 
 
 I sing of death; I sing of life, 
 Of mountains hoar and budding flowers; 
 I sing of joy; I sing of strife 
 Till I forget the wordly hours. 
 
 Open your window to my eye ! 
 Waft me your kisses on the wind ! 
 And I'll forsake a starry sky 
 To follow Love, though he be blind. 
 
 I hunt the heart your bosom holds; 
 I hear it beating miles away; 
 And when the earth, the night enfolds, 
 I sleep not while I wait the day. 
 
 Love, I shall die of weariness, 
 Unless you tell your heart to me! 
 Love, I shall steal your loveliness 
 And hide it in an old oak tree ! 
 
 Beneath your window, Love, I sing, 
 Accompanied by my guitar 
 Love, would I were a skylark's wing, 
 Or beam of some bright evening star! 
 
 So I might through your window fly, 
 And kiss the blushes from your cheek, 
 Returning to the boundless sky 
 Where souls need no words when they speak. 
 
 73
 
 EXILED. , 
 
 The seagulls drifted like aimless thought 
 
 Over the choppy sea; 
 The shore's gray cliffs the billows fought. 
 
 And the winds were blowing free. 
 
 I lay on the shore of my arid isle 
 And fumbled the jeweled sand, 
 
 Whose sparkling grains, with time to beguile, 
 I sifted through my hand. 
 
 I should ne'er awake if I fell asleep 
 
 Here by the roaring sea. 
 The ocean would nearer and nearer creep 
 
 Till its waves washed over me. 
 
 Sorrow was raging in my breast 
 
 Like a storm upon the sea, 
 And like the sun disappeared in the west, 
 
 So Hope deserted me. 
 
 I called my Love, but she was gone 
 
 Gone down into the sea ! 
 I looked for a star, but there was none 
 
 In heaven to comfort me!
 
 AH, GOLDEN DREAM OF YESTERDAY ! 
 
 Ah, golden dream of yesterday ! 
 
 Where have you, traitor, flown? 
 Give back to me but one lost ray, 
 
 And I will cease to moan! 
 
 How can so fair a face be false, 
 
 So bright a smile unkind? 
 Love led me in an endless waltz, 
 
 And he, poor fool, was blind. 
 
 Ah, had I never loved so blindly, 
 I ne'er would have repined ! 
 
 Ah, had you never smiled so kindly, 
 I would not have been blind ! 
 
 Oh, why does God make devils over 
 
 To so like angels seem? 
 Oh, why must a well meaning lover 
 
 Enslaved be by a dream? 
 
 I curse the shadows of the past, 
 And bless its transient rays; 
 
 I turn from the past's wintry blast, 
 And plough through wintrier ways!
 
 MARTHA AT THE PIANO. 
 
 How gracefully her fingers seem to play 
 Over the keyboard ! Fair as ivory 
 Are her sweet hands and like a memory 
 The smile that lingers ere it dies away 
 Upon her lips, dear rosebuds of the May ! 
 Her auburn tresses like a curling sea 
 Are billowing o'er shoulders, fancy-free, 
 And now her voice ascends like dawning day 
 To dwell among the angels in the sky. 
 Wafted on music are my museful dreams, 
 And up up with her song they seem to fly 
 Until they reach the gates of love, it seems, 
 When all sound ceases, and within my chair 
 I hear heart-echoes of a vanished air. 
 
 MY VIRGIN MARY. 
 
 I dreamt a dream the other night: Behold! 
 
 You, Helen, on the wings of sleep appeared! 
 
 Rosy-cheeked cherubim with trumpets gold 
 
 Your coming heralded, and angels peered 
 
 Down from their thrones, the clouds, to smile on you; 
 
 And though Night had not yet descended, gleamed 
 
 Some stars in heaven, tracing on the blue 
 
 Letters of gold, that spelled aloft (I dreamed) 
 
 This: VIRGIN MARY! And it seemed the face 
 
 Of her who looked at me within my sleep 
 
 Was you, fair Helen hallowed with grace 
 
 Oh, of that blessed vision I drank deep ! 
 
 While others worship saints and saviors airy, 
 
 I worship you You are my Virgin Mary! 
 
 76
 
 MY HERMITAGE. 
 
 Ah, might I wend with Poesy 
 
 To some secluded sylvan cave 
 
 Where I from life's unrest could be 
 
 In peace and quiet all I crave ! 
 
 There, deaf to crowds that rant and rave, 
 
 I'd tune my harp's enchanted strings, 
 
 Disturbed by no wild, turbulent wave, 
 
 And play the songs that nature sings. 
 
 There unmolested with my dreams, 
 In Poesy's dear arms reclined, 
 Forget I would the human streams 
 That with the world I left behind. 
 And weaving fancies in my mind, 
 I'd press the hand of Poesy 
 Until her ruby lips I'd find, 
 Whose kisses dull the memory. 
 
 Oh, there a hermit would I die. 
 With snowy beard dropped to my feet; 
 On Poesy's fair breast I'd lie. 
 And drink a last kiss long and sweet. 
 In Heaven when again we meet, 
 Transformed to lovely seraphim, 
 Her with a blessed harp I'll greet 
 'Mid stars that in vast ether swim. 
 
 77
 
 A SONG OF IDLENESS. 
 
 In the dark cell of indolence I lie 
 And rattle fancy's chain, each link a dream 
 That here imprisons me till I may die 
 And vanish in night like a stellar beam ! 
 
 I've worshipped all my wasted life the moon 
 The moon of dreams that languishes on high. 
 For useless dreams, for an intangible tune, 
 For idle thoughts that evanesce I sigh ! 
 
 What are the flowers and the streams for, O 
 If not to give a dreaming idler joy? 
 What use are winter winds and storms of snow 
 If they may not an idler's heart annoy? 
 
 Why should the sun all-glorious ever shine 
 If it warmed not a lazy body's blood? 
 Why should the birds sing in the summertime 
 If none might idly listen in the wood? 
 
 Why should a rose give forth a pleasing scent 
 If none could waste the precious time to smell it? 
 How would we know what idleness, sirs, meant 
 If there were not an idler here to tell it? 
 
 So sing a song to indolence, heigh-ho ! 
 And stretch awhile adreaming in the sun. 
 Oh, bid farewell to care and gloomy woe, 
 And get from grim old life a little fun ! 
 
 78
 
 UNANSWERED. 
 
 Why do I sweat with mind and pen 
 Composing lines of poetry 
 To be thrust down the throats of men 
 And forced upon their memory? 
 
 The world has sung sufficient songs 
 To last it for so many years ! 
 I shall not right its ancient wrongs 
 Or dry its unavoidable tears. 
 
 Would I not to society 
 
 More necessary be, did I 
 
 Sow in the fields, own property, 
 
 And cease descanting of the sky? 
 
 Oh, ask the farmboy on the hill 
 
 Why whistles he while upward climbing. 
 
 If he an answer yield you will, 
 
 You'll know why I persist in rhyming. 
 
 Perhaps he should not truant roam. 
 He's needed in the valley more 
 To till the fields and tend the home. 
 Or bargain in the village store. 
 
 Has he right to forsake his duty, 
 And whistle of a dream fulfilled? 
 Because he loves God's cheering beauty, 
 He leaves the barren land untilled. 
 
 79
 
 Since loves he to breathe Heaven's air, 
 And listen to the glad birds sing, 
 He mounts the hill, forsaking care, 
 And kisses the hot lips of spring. 
 
 He blows on a melodious reed 
 And imitates the birds' sweet songs. 
 The valley's planes have gone to seed, 
 Unrighted are World's ancient wrongs. 
 
 Yet still he plays, and still I write 
 The tunes that will not quit the heart, 
 Until descends the silent night, 
 And fires of Heaven at last depart. 
 
 80
 
 AN INDIAN PRAYER. 
 
 Look upon me, great Sun Father, seeming 
 Like a river of the heart's blood streaming 
 Mid the heavens, hearken to my dreaming ! 
 Father, hear my humble prayer ! 
 Aye, I love a maiden like a flower 
 In the forest kissed by sun and shower, 
 And beseech that Thou, almighty Power, 
 Give to me this maiden fair. 
 
 Hark ! Within the wood the birds are singing ! 
 O'er yon cliff a cataract is springing ! 
 Echo in a mountain cave is ringing! 
 What do all these voices tell? 
 They the maiden of my heart are naming. 
 They her virtuous mind and heart are faming, 
 Telling of her cheeks fair blushes flaming 
 Heavenly Father, it is well. 
 
 Thou amid the distant skies descending, 
 
 That bring'st light throughout the days unending 
 
 And joy to my people aye art sending, 
 
 Hearken to thy son's behest. 
 
 Through the trees the hart and hind are moving, 
 
 To his nest and mate the robin's roving; 
 
 All the wilderness was made for loving 
 
 Grant me her that I love best! 
 
 I upon the war-path have no fearing, 
 Yet in peace am gentle and endearing. 
 God of Light, upon Thy children peering, 
 As Thou cheerest all. cheer me! 
 
 81
 
 I've a wigwam strong and warm erected, 
 That will be most cheerless and neglected 
 Without the fair squaw that's there expected 
 Merciful, my Father, be! 
 
 DREAMLAND. 
 
 O, where does Dreamland lie? 
 Out in the balmy west 
 Beneath a starry sky! 
 
 The winds go there, 
 
 The streams flow there, 
 And thither the swallows fly. 
 
 O, where is Dreamland, say? 
 In the hush of the Occident 
 Mid fields of perennial May! 
 
 Our longings wing there, 
 
 Our yearnings sing there, 
 And even is Sorrow gay ! 
 
 O, where is the Land of Dreams? 
 
 Over the purple hills 
 
 Where the river of life's blood streams, 
 
 And the load ends, 
 
 And the road wends, 
 And the moon at even gleams ! 
 
 82
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING. 
 
 Ah Irving, pen your sketches once again 
 Of rural England picturesque and quaint ! 
 Your perfect drawings bear no common taint. 
 
 To read them o'er and o'er again I'm fain. 
 
 Oh, once more dream your way through sunny Spain 
 And the Alhambra of Granada paint 
 In color tints so fair, with joy I faint! 
 
 Those visions I recall shall never wane; 
 
 Those sketches Time shall ne'er obliterate. 
 
 They have been bred immortal by kind fate, 
 And when the stars grow cold and cease to shine 
 
 Amid the heaven's vasty canopy, 
 Then only then your progeny divine 
 
 Will be forsaken by man's memory! 
 
 MACSWINEY. 
 
 The angels sing today most joyously: 
 Another martyr's soul ascends the sky. 
 Our Savior Christ the Jews did crucify, 
 
 And beautiful in his martyrdom was he, 
 
 Bleeding that the world might delivered be. 
 In Jesus' footsteps with uplifted eye 
 A plain man follows one who dares to die 
 
 Nay, starve for Right, that Erin may be free! 
 
 MacSwiney, future generations will 
 
 Bless you, and Fame immortalize you too. 
 Oh, with Saint Patrick on a halcyon shore 
 
 You stand and gaze with love on Erin still. 
 Did you not love yourself as all men do? 
 Ah, yes ! but then you loved your country more !
 
 GOD IN NATURE. 
 
 Within the forest's solitude 
 Now the lone fisherman with his rod 
 Disturbs the stillness of the lake, 
 And sees the mirrored face of God. 
 
 Along the road there slowly wends 
 The farmer with his load of hay, 
 And, looking round on the wide world, 
 He sees God smiling in the day. 
 
 The sturdy worker wields his scythe 
 Among the fields of golden wheat, 
 And in all nature round about 
 He face to face with God does meet. 
 
 The children romping at their play, 
 Among the meadows gathering 
 The nodding daisies in their arms, 
 See God in every growing thing. 
 
 The mountain climber, plodding up 
 The thickly-wooded trail, hears sing, 
 When from a bush a partridge flies, 
 God's voice within that rustling wing. 
 
 And I, the dreamer by the brook 
 Hark to the murmuring waters flow, 
 Till in that music also I 
 Do God's eternal presence know. 
 
 84
 
 THE VIOLET AND THE OAK. 
 
 Once in a fairy forest wild 
 
 A violet and an oak tree grew. 
 
 The violet bloomed there, meek and mild 
 
 Among the grasses bright with dew, 
 
 And the oak towered undented 
 
 High up among the heavens blue. 
 
 A wind came puffing past one day. 
 
 Poor Violet, she felt afraid, 
 
 And shivered on in such a way, 
 
 The big oak laughed, "Pooh, little maid, 
 
 No wind can blow great me away!" 
 
 Then bowing down to her he said: 
 
 "A lesson you will learn, my dear, 
 
 If you observe how I behave. 
 
 I am immortal and a peer! 
 
 None dare touch one whose heart is brave, 
 
 And neither man nor God I fear !" 
 
 Whereat he tried to look most grave. 
 
 Next day a woodman came thereby, 
 And wounded with his axe the oak. 
 The clouds then gathered in the sky 
 Ere he had done, and with one stroke 
 The lightning left the tree to die, 
 That boastfully no longer spoke. 
 
 The flower feared she might be seen 
 When first the sturdy woodman passed. 
 Now, hidden in the grasses green, 
 She merely trembled in the blast, 
 Glad she had always humble been; 
 And to her stem she still held fast. 
 
 85
 
 THE REASON FOR CREATION. 
 
 The stars, my dear, were made to shine for you, 
 The sun and moon were thus created too; 
 Wars have been waged and cities built and lost; 
 Springs have bedecked the earth, and Winter's frost 
 Bared earth's old breast for eons and for eons; 
 Cathedral bells have bellowed forth their paeons 
 Since Christ, the Savior, came; and numberless men 
 Have lived and died, old worlds returned again; 
 And countless hearts, both faithful and untrue, 
 Have loved so that Time might give birth to you. 
 When you grow weary, and from life depart, 
 Then I shall watch down the wide west descend 
 The last of days, and with a pining heart 
 Wait, Helen, for the universe to end!
 
 THE GRAVEYARD. 
 
 How peaceful and still is the graveyard ! 
 Not a wind through the tombstones stirs. 
 Not a bird in the graveyard is singing. 
 On a lone bier a black cat purrs. 
 
 The flowers, by loving hands laid here 
 
 On the beds of dear friends long at rest, 
 
 Lie now withered and drooped in the darkness 
 
 As though mocking the hands that them pressed. 
 
 On a tombstone I sat me down weary, 
 And mused with my chin in my hands. 
 On a tombstone beside me sat Sorrow, 
 And he sat with his chin in his hands. 
 
 "O Sorrow !" I sighed, "you are friendly, 
 And I feel that your heart understands!" 
 But he uttered no word in the darkness. 
 And he sat with his chin in his hands. 
 
 I rose, and I left him to brood there, 
 
 And I roamed mid the sleepers alone; 
 
 And the graves oped their dark mouths around me, 
 
 And I heard them in agony groan. 
 
 Lo ! the sleepers awoke and came forth then ! 
 Lay heavily on them the years. 
 They were flesh not, nor bone, nor but dust e'en; 
 They were dim shapes one sees but through tears. 
 
 They spoke not, they heard not, they saw not ! 
 
 With their thoughts they were living alone. 
 
 And they paced with bowed heads through the shadows. 
 
 And I heard them despairingly moan. 
 
 87
 
 LOVE OF MINE. 
 
 Oh, love of mine, your heart is gold, 
 
 And I must love you ever! 
 Oh, haughty fair, your looks are cold, 
 
 And you will love me never! 
 
 I gazed into your eyes of blue, 
 
 And felt love's dart a-grieved then. 
 
 I gave to you a passion true, 
 And but the moon received then. 
 
 Forevermore I must repine 
 
 (Since you can never love me,) 
 
 And vainly covet stars that shine 
 In regions far above me! 
 
 88
 
 HOW I LOVE YOU. 
 
 Your hair is brilliant as the matin sun, 
 And yet I do not love you for your hair. 
 Your mouth is like an amaranth, dear one; 
 And yet I love you not because 'tis fair. 
 Your eyes are brighter than the stars above, 
 Your lovely skin is white like ivory! 
 And yet I for none of these reasons love; 
 But bless a beauty the eyes cannot see. 
 I love you for the kindly soul in you; 
 The generous smile, and sympathetic tear; 
 The steadfast heart beneath, forever true; 
 The deeds that prove the source to be sincere: 
 I love you for such virtues as change never, 
 That I may love you truly, and forever!
 
 THE FLOWER POT. 
 
 There in that tenement window 
 
 A pot of flowers stands. 
 Tenderly Grace has cared for it 
 
 With her dainty little hands. 
 
 She bought it at the florist 
 
 Only three blocks away. 
 She saw it in the window there. 
 
 Kissed by the smiling day. 
 
 It reminded her of the country, 
 Of the fields and brooks and trees 
 
 Where she had played when a little girl 
 A pot of memories ! 
 
 And so she took it home with her, 
 And placed it in the window there, 
 
 And like a mother tended it; 
 And it was blooming fair! 
 
 There came a little sparrow, 
 
 That perched on her window sill, 
 And sang of those scenes that she had known 
 
 With a brave and sprightly will. 
 
 He peered at the graceful flowers, 
 And he pecked at the earthen pot, 
 
 And fell in love with the charm of it. 
 And sang like a lover hot ! 
 
 90
 
 And the streets and monotonous houses 
 
 Faded and crumbled away, 
 And the breezes wafted the daisies' heads 
 
 That waved in the fields by the way! 
 
 A mumuring brooklet ran by 
 
 The flowery banks of a wood, 
 And the browsing cattle with tinkling bells 
 
 In the tall green grasses stood. 
 
 And Grace with a rattling milk pail 
 Flew by like a summer's breeze, 
 
 That blows through the nodding meadows 
 And rustles the leafy trees; 
 
 And she smelt no more the stuffy 
 
 And poisonous air of the flat 
 Where, listening to the sparrow's song, 
 
 By the open window she sat; 
 
 She smelt no more the rank air 
 That infested her tenement home, 
 
 For her dreams brought her perfumed breezes 
 And dales where her heart might roam. 
 
 Her dreams brought her scenes bucolic 
 Flowers and woods and streams 
 
 Till the bird flew away from the window sill 
 And took with him all her dreams. 
 
 But left was the pot of flowers 
 To remind her of all of it yet 
 
 A pot of flowery memories ! 
 While they bloomed, she could not forget. 
 
 91
 
 JOY. 
 
 Joy, you and I have lived together 
 In lovers' bowers and sunny weather. 
 We've sported in the waving meadows 
 And laughing fled from Sorrow's shadows. 
 Heigh-ho ! the winds are gayly blowing ! 
 Heigh-ho ! the streams are swiftly flowing ! ' 
 Let us follow winds and streams 
 Till we find our truant dreams. 
 With Song and Dance we will be going ! 
 
 Fly, fly! from sighing Melancholy! 
 She is a sinful fiend unholy. 
 Take refuge in the vales of pleasure, 
 And foot a quick and nimble measure. 
 Heigh-ho ! the winds are gayly blowing ! 
 Heigh-ho ! the streams are swiftly flowing ! 
 Melancholy Night is fled. 
 Joy, to you our hearts we wed. 
 With Song and Dance we will be going! 
 
 Now gayly trip with Love and Passion, 
 And trill a lay, as is the fashion. 
 We'll pick some fresh bouquets of flowers, 
 And deck the graves of mournful hours. 
 Heigh-ho ! the winds are gayly blowing ! 
 Heigh-ho ! the streams are swiftly flowing ! 
 Sorrow in his coffin place; 
 Shroud him round, and hide his face. 
 With Song and Dance we will be going! 
 
 92
 
 THE MERRY BROOKLET. 
 
 Oh, brooklet blithely running 
 Through tranquil forest ways, 
 
 How gay's your childish laughter ! 
 How pleasant are your days ! 
 
 So ran my spirits long ago 
 Ere vice gave birth to care. 
 
 Oh, whither did sweet Pleasure go? 
 Her eyes and lips were fair ! 
 
 The birds then sang so sweetly, 
 
 The world was ever glad ! 
 My heart rejoiced completely, 
 
 But now my heart is sad. 
 
 The blood is cold now in my veins, 
 My heart has v/eary grown; 
 
 There's no delight but has some pains, 
 And while I laugh I groan. 
 
 My childish dreams are broken, 
 
 My tearful eyes are blind. 
 I've kept no cherished token, 
 
 And spring is left behind. 
 
 93
 
 WHY I SING. 
 
 Because in verse I cry my love abroad, 
 
 Do you suspect my passion then is cheap? 
 
 I wish that all I meet upon life's road 
 
 Might know your worth; for selfish 'twere to keep 
 
 The admiration that is but thy due 
 
 From thee. celestial mortal of drear earth! 
 
 Let all the world attend and gaze on you! 
 
 Have they seen stars of your bright eyes the worth? 
 
 What rose within a sylvan cloister grows 
 
 That e'er was fair enough to grace your cheek? 
 
 The herd such super-beauty seldom knows! 
 
 Yours is the beauty that the poets seek, 
 
 That beauty blest of which but angels sing, 
 
 That never deigns to nether worlds to wing. 
 
 THE END 
 
 I dreamed the world came to an end, 
 But not in tune with man's predictions; 
 For when sun superseded storm, 
 Shattered were all the old convictions. 
 
 Did man dream that a humble hill 
 Could e'er a mighty mountain be? 
 Oh no ! his infant mind mistook 
 A second for eternitv!
 
 ON INNOCENCE. 
 
 A bud before it opens to the world, 
 Untorn by tempests, safe in blindness furled,-- 
 Such is sweet Innocence, virtue undefiled, 
 That dwells in smiles and tears of but a child. 
 Wisdom beside this infant virtue pales. 
 Knowledge, with it compared, in prestige fails. 
 For it to Truth and Honor seek were vain; 
 Since, being blind, it may no wrong obtain. 
 
 HEART'S DESIRE. 
 
 The god I yearn for is not on this earth. 
 
 He sits a-dreaming dreaming in the skies. 
 I wish that I could blast the welkin's girth 
 
 And quench heart's taunting thirst, and still its sighs ! 
 Despairingly I scan the emptiness, 
 
 Knowing too well that nothing lurks therein. 
 I'd leave these worldly scenes, that so depress, 
 
 And quaff a kind draught from oblivion ! 
 For while I live I may but yearn for peace; 
 
 And where is peace assured, but in the grave. 
 I would a mossy tomb forever lease. 
 
 Where I might sleep the endless sleep I crave ! 
 But nOj to serve the drink stern Fate declines 
 While for a ghost my heart still vainly pines. 
 
 95
 
 IN THE ART MUSEUM. 
 
 Within the art museum I 
 
 Among the masters' portraits spy 
 
 A lady lost in admiration 
 
 O'er some saint in an exaltation. 
 
 Would I might whisper in her ear, 
 
 "You are the fairest picture here!" 
 
 SNOWFLAKES. 
 
 I at the window sit 
 And watch the snowflakes flit 
 Like holy thoughts that fly 
 Down from God's brain, the sky. 
 
 I watch them slowly sink. 
 And try to muse and think 
 What they remind me of, 
 Descending from above. 
 
 "These snowflakes are," say I, 
 "Descending from the sky, 
 Like dreams when first they start, 
 Descending from God's heart." 
 
 I catch them in my hand 
 And watch them, as they land, 
 Melt into tiny streams 
 Like anybody's dreams. 
 
 96
 
 THE ELOPEMENT. 
 
 Night 'gan to steal on old Seville 
 
 And o'er Giralda tower. 
 A star shone bright through the clear night 
 
 Oh, peaceful was the hour! 
 With her guitar accompanying, 
 
 Delores, lovely fair, 
 Was heard to magically sing 
 
 A tender, plaintive air. 
 
 Delores at her casement sat, 
 
 A rose within her hair. 
 Less bright the skies shone than her eyes 
 
 Never was one so fair! 
 The lonely soul of her guitar 
 
 Dies singing in the night; 
 Her voice ascends to heaven's star, 
 
 And trembles with delight ! 
 
 "Light of my eye," I softly cry, 
 
 "I proffer you my heart! 
 Dark is the night, and safe for flight 
 
 Let us this hour depart!" 
 I mount unto her balcony 
 
 And lift her in my arms, 
 And from her father's house we flee 
 
 Ere anyone alarms. 
 
 My black-eyed fair on horse I bear 
 
 Through Andalusia's hills. 
 We gallop fast till we have passed 
 
 What distance Caution wills. 
 Then slowing to a walk my steed, 
 
 I kiss my stolen bride, 
 And singing gayly, sorrow-freed, 
 
 Under the moon we ride. 
 97
 
 THE HUMMING BIRD. 
 
 I hear the humming of his tiny wings 
 About the tempting honeysuckle vine: 
 Intoxicated with the flowers' wine, 
 
 The humming-bird there in the sunlight sings. 
 
 Ah, birdling, would my life were such as thine 
 To fly from sweet to sweet all the day long 
 Upon such tiny, subtile wings of song 
 
 Would that thy short unsaddened life were mine ! 
 
 THE SONG-BIRD. 
 
 I am a song-bird in a glade, 
 Drinking the madness of the spring. 
 
 Of dreams my heart is unafraid 
 Of dreams I sing. 
 
 The roses by the wayside blooming 
 I soon may reach upon the wing, 
 
 And though there should be thunder booming 
 My dreams I'll sing. 
 
 The cataract o'er the precipice falling, 
 The merry stream that trips along, 
 
 The winds among the treetops calling 
 Join in my song. 
 
 I care not for the heavy cares 
 That lie on others' aching hearts. 
 
 I dream my dreams and trill my airs 
 Till spring departs. 
 
 98
 
 LOVE SONG. 
 
 Her lovely head against my shoulder pressed, 
 
 Her violet eyes upturned to me 
 I held her with mad joy against my grateful breast 
 
 And kissed her rose-lips tenderly. 
 
 The moon had like a maiden's heart arisen 
 
 In the illimitable east 
 A love-lit heart, escaped from its terrestrial prison, 
 
 The dark cell of the human breast. 
 
 "When I no longer love you," I professed, 
 "The planets will have ceased to shine!" 
 
 A heart's beat answered in my love's enamored breast 
 The reeling universe was mine ! 
 
 99
 
 ENVOY. 
 
 Dreams before the mirror pass. 
 
 Clouds and fairies, fields of flowers, 
 
 All within the magic glass 
 
 Are reflected but, alas ! 
 
 They have flown now with the hours. 
 
 Castles of a dreamer's heart 
 In the magic mirror gleamed, 
 Citadels of wondrous art 
 Never painted ! All depart 
 Pictures that a dreamer dreamed. 
 
 Place the closed book on the shelf, 
 Shatter the enchanted glass; 
 See between the cracks your self 
 Mocking like a grinning elf. 
 Broken is the spell alas! 
 
 100
 
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